


Suck It

by level3puckbunny



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/level3puckbunny/pseuds/level3puckbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of ways to deal with getting swept in the playoffs. This is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suck It

**Author's Note:**

> So this was basically my way of coping with my team getting conquered by the Bruins and I'm just now posting it because I'm a horrible procrastinator. At least it's still the off-season?

Apparently he wasn’t a “two-beer queer.” Apparently he was a “playoff-series-loss-and-eight-shots-of-tequila queer.”

            He’d had sex last night, Claude was realizing as he drifted back to consciousness. He was lying in bed, naked, and there was definitely someone else in bed with him. If he _hadn’t_ gotten laid, there was something seriously wrong with him as a twenty-three-year-old hockey player. He cracked his eyes open, wincing as the light that filtered around the gaps in the hotel room curtains knifed into the back of his skull. How much had he had to drink last night? All he remembered was the bar, and Danny buying him shot after shot of tequila. _Expensive_ tequila, although it didn’t matter after about Shot Four. He remembered Danny’s hand on his back through the entire process, and how every time he’d opened his mouth to say something like _We should’ve_ or _We could’ve_  or _We ought’ve_ another shotglass brimming over with liquor was placed in front of him.

            Danny was a really good friend.

            Claude flung an arm over his face as he tried to remember what else had happened the night before. He remembered finally Danny getting him up off the barstool, and he remembered going outside in search of a cab, although the memories had that hazy, dreamlike quality of drunken recollections. Where had the girl come in? They hadn’t left the bar with a girl, he was thinking, just as in his memory he saw himself drag Danny into an alleyway and messily, drunkenly plant one on his mentor and best friend.

            He sat bolt upright in bed. Next to him, Danny stirred, rolling over onto his back and looking up at him through half-open eyes.

            “Morning,” he said, like it was fucking _natural_ that he should be waking up, naked, in bed, with Claude, also naked, after they had done God only knows what the night before.

            “What-” Claude tried to say, but his brain appeared to have completely short-circuited. _Holy fucking shit._ Had he just taken all of Pronger’s jokes about how he and Danny were secretly fucking to heart? Had someone spiked his tequila with _gay_? And sweet Jesus, why was he now wishing desperately that he could remember at least who had been on top?

            “We didn’t fuck,” Danny told him, like he was reading his mind. Claude blinked.

            “What?” As in, _what, so we decided to have a naked slumber party just for shits and giggles_?

            “You passed out first,” Danny informed him. Claude stared at him, totally at a loss for words, as he went on. “How do you feel? You drank a lot last night.” Vintage Danny—to go from _No, I did not in fact take advantage of you last night in your drunken stupor_ to _How you feeling, buddy_?

            “I feel like shit,” Claude finally said, realizing it was true as he said so. His head was throbbing and his tongue was thick and heavy with dehydration.

            “You look it,” Danny said as he stood up and headed into the bathroom. Claude instantly averted his eyes from Danny’s naked ass, having decided that if there was one thing he didn’t need to be thinking about this morning, that was it. He flopped back down onto the mattress, his eyes closed tightly as memories kept coming back from last night to wander across the inside of his eyelids.

            Danny had held Claude off him during the cab ride back to the hotel, hissing something in his ear about Deadspin and Claude’s mother and Danny’s sons and _get your hand out of my pants now we’re in public_. Somehow they had made it back up to their room, and then-  
            Jesus, had he actually given Danny a blowjob? So that’s what that taste in his mouth was. Claude groaned, flipping over so he could bury his face in the pillow and wishing that Danny would accidentally fall into the toilet and drown or something.

            No such luck. A few moments later he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

            “Roll over,” Danny said to him in French. Because speaking would have involved doing just that, Claude merely held up one hand and flipped him off. “Nice of you, I’m trying to help. Roll over.” Claude debated what to do and realized that he was inadvertently smothering himself by doing a faceplant into goosedown, and so he did as Danny asked. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, to see that Danny was dressed by then (at least in a T-shirt and boxers), and holding a bottle of Gatorade from the mini-bar. “Drink.” Claude managed to get himself into a sitting position and then he took the Gatorade from Danny, downing half the bottle in a few long gulps. There was a long silence.

            “Did I really-” Claude began.

            “Give me head? Yeah.” He could have died right then and there before Danny went on. “You were so fucking drunk, though, I think you’d have fucked anything that stood still long enough. I mean, you were practically humping the plants in the hotel lobby.” Claude snuck a look at Danny’s face to see that the other man was smiling faintly at him.

            “I wasn’t-” he began halfheartedly, and Danny cut him off.

            “You were fucking _wasted_. Yeah, it was way better than that wounded-puppy look you had after the game, but hell, anything would be better than that look. You look like you’re about twelve.” There was another silence, which Claude filled by gulping down the rest of the Gatorade.

            “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, finally, looking anywhere but Danny as he said it. _I’m sorry I completely fucked shit up. I’m sorry that we’ll never be able to look at each other the same way. I’m sorry I’m really, really gay for you. I’m sorry I’m actually not all that sorry_.

            “Claude.” Danny’s voice was soft. “Would you at least look at me when you fumble through your fake apology?”

            “What-” And then Claude decided that it was creepy how Danny actually knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. “Was I any good?” he blurted out, the question he was really thinking coming to mind.

            “Yeah,” Danny said offhandedly. “Once you got your teeth under control.” Claude felt blood rush to his cheeks and avoided Danny’s gaze again. “It was actually kind of relieving, to know that there’s one thing on God’s green earth that you _don’t_ do perfectly on the first try.” And that one thing happened to be blowjobs. Claude suddenly found himself wishing that he could have nailed the blowjob and struggled with, say, doing a backhand toe drag, and then realized what a truly dangerous thought that was.

            “Sorry,” he muttered.

            “Why the fuck are you apologizing? I was the one who got my cock sucked.” If possible, Claude went redder. Danny ignored it. “You feeling better?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Good. Go take a shower. You smell like booze and sex.” Which was manifestly unfair if he hadn’t in fact gotten laid, but he wasn’t going to argue with Danny about the fact that he reeked and needed a shower.

            He stood under the hot water for an agonizingly long time, until every knot in his muscles from the last few months seemed to have worked its way out, and came out of the bathroom to find his stuff packed, clothes laid out on top of his suitcase for him, and Danny fully dressed and on the phone.

            “-skip breakfast,” he was saying. “We’ll see you on the plane, okay? Yeah. Bye.” He hung up and turned just as Claude pulled on his boxers and reached for his dress shirt.

            “Who was on the phone?” he asked.

            “Scottie,” Danny said absently. “I told him we’d meet up with everyone else on the plane. Didn’t think you’d want to do breakfast.” The very idea of food, in fact, turned Claude’s stomach. Danny grinned at the look on his face. “Yeah, thought so.” Still pantsless, Claude sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands.

            “I can’t believe that really happened,” he mumbled. He heard footsteps, and was thusly not surprised when he felt Danny bury his fingers in Claude’s hair, rubbing his scalp.

            “Stop thinking so hard.”

            “Easy for you to say. You didn’t blow your best friend last night.”

            “No, I’m about to blow my best friend this morning.” Claude’s head snapped up, eyes wide, as he stared at Danny, who had already knelt down in front of him. Danny smacked the side of Claude’s head as he pushed his knees apart. “ _Stop thinking so hard_. You’ll sprain something.” Claude had a half-finished witty remark in his head about how it was now the off-season and he could sprain whatever he damn well pleased, but then his boxers were yanked down and his dick was in Danny’s hand and witty remarks were the last thing on his mind.

            He groaned as Danny took him into his mouth, eyes screwed shut and fingers curled just shy of painful in Danny’s hair. It became patently obvious that Danny, unlike Claude, knew exactly what to do or not do with his teeth, and his tongue and lips for that matter, and Claude came embarrassingly quickly, aware of biting out the words _Jesus_ and _fuck_ and _Danny_ in some indeterminate order as stars exploded in front of his eyes.

            His first thought immediately afterwards was that his friend had just given him a blowjob and neither one of them had been drunk at the time.

            “This is kind of gay, Danny,” he managed, and he heard laughter from across the room—when the hell had Danny moved across the room? He opened his eyes to see that Danny was _straightening his fucking tie_ in the mirror, like he hadn’t had Claude’s cock in his mouth thirty seconds earlier.

            “There is no _kind of_ to it, _mon cher_ ,” he said easily, turning away from the mirror, and Claude tried to convince himself that the feeling in his gut was another pang of nausea and not a lick of arousal at how fucking hot Danny looked in that suit.

            “Don’t call me _mon cher_ , you’re not my grandmother,” was all Claude could think to retort.

            “Fortunately.” Danny eyed him up. “Get dressed, or we’ll miss the plane.” Seeing the logic in not being in fucking Boston for a second longer than he had to be, Claude got up and pulled on his pants, before shrugging on his blazer. He wasn’t going to wear a tie, and if anyone objected, well, they could-

            Perhaps _suck it_ was not the best phrase to use today considering the circumstances.

            “I don’t understand,” Claude blurted out suddenly, turning to face Danny. “What—what are we-” Danny walked right up to him, and deliberately curled a hand around his neck and pulled him down for a deep, thorough kiss. They broke apart and Claude stared at Danny for a long second, before suddenly Danny smacked him upside the head again. “Ow!”

            “Stop thinking so hard,” Danny told him.

            “I mean—I’m not _gay-_ ”

            “Of course you’re not.” Claude honestly couldn’t tell if Danny was making fun of him. “And you still won’t be gay after we get home and I fuck you into the mattress, hm?” Claude swallowed. Hard.

            “Yeah,” he finally managed through an uncharacteristically dry mouth. “I definitely won’t be gay, after that, so, you know…”

            “I should probably do it?”

            “Yeah.” Danny grinned wolfishly at him, and Claude suddenly understood exactly what he meant about thinking too hard.

            Hell, he wasn’t sure if he had enough blood getting to his brain right then to think about much of anything at all.

            Danny hefted his suitcase off the bed and Claude did the same, following the older man out of their room and down to the lobby of the hotel.

            “There you two are,” Pronger said as they walked out front to get a taxi. “Mr. and Mrs. Briere. You have a nice long cuddle to get over last night’s game?”

            _Holy shit, you have no idea_.


End file.
